Lilly Jayne

The week passes in a struggle of the seasons. Cold rain gives way to spring-like mornings and birdsong, only to fall prey to heavy, thick snow, and all the Instagrammers stop in their tracks at Union Square to photograph the trees. The snow disappears by mid-day. She sits on the couch grimacing in regular intervals. They're getting worse. He looks anxiously at his watch, counting seconds, referring back to printed instructions. I leave them in the early evening. Say Try to get some sleep if you can. You have a lot of work ahead of you.

The baby arrives late the next day. She sends pictures of a beaming father and a sleeping bundle in hospital blankets. Second avenue screams its Friday night fervor as per usual, but for two people in Queens, New York, everything has changed. I tossed for a long time in my bed, trying to make sense of the world.

Perhaps there isn't any to make. Just roll with the punches. Figure it out as you go.